


Crowns and Cutlasses

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrulogical, M/M, Moceit - Freeform, Prince/Pirate AU, Prinxiety - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: When Roman is sixteen, his twin and the rightful heir to the throne disappears.That in itself doesn't bother the king and queen; Remus openly detested his destiny as the future ruler of the kingdom, and besides, Roman was the country's darling, so it was no great loss for the ruling couple. They wept before the public, grieved their missing son for as long as they thought appropriate, but behind the scenes, they worked quickly to prep Roman for his new future. All seems well from the eyes of the people.But when Roman is nineteen, someone decides it's his time to disappear, too.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 88
Kudos: 336





	1. Chapter 1

_There was a royal family with two sons. A pair of twins, with the crown destined for the older twin's head; he openly detests the crown and refuses to fall in line as he grows up, so the king and queen decide the younger twin will be the heir instead. No great loss, anyway; he’s the country’s darling. No one will complain. Just like no one complains when, on the twins’ sixteenth birthday, the older twin disappears in the middle of the night._

_The king and queen move past it like it’s nothing - they weep before the country, of course, and the younger twin is privy to all the annoyed arrangements being made behind the scenes to ensure the kingdom moves on quickly before unrest grows - and though the younger twin feels like a piece of him has been ripped away, he knows the king won’t be kind in letting him grieve, so he straightens his spine and pretends to be strong._

_Three years later, on the prince’s birthday - they just call him the prince now, no Prince Roman to specify which son they’re speaking to, because he is now, of course, the only one - the king and queen hold a ball. The king tells him it’s just to celebrate him, but Roman knows the king would forget his name if there wasn’t a Chamberlain to remind him. He also knows, with a pit in his stomach and a barely suppressed eyeroll, that the ball is most likely to find him a wife. He tries not to think about it; he just sits in his funny little throne at the front of the ballroom and tries to make his smile look real as his father rattles some pre-written speech and the queen claps politely, the epitome of submissive grace. Roman wants to either go to sleep or scream, but he just smiles._

_And then someone breaks a window._

_The party-crashers are quick, swift - there are rapiers at their sides, and the guests’ alarm turns to screaming as they realize their ocean-side palace visit is being interrupted by pirates, of all enemies - and by the time the kitchen staff are caught unawares with refreshments in the entryway, the villains are gone._

_And so is the prince._

When Roman comes to, the first thing he senses is the smell of salt in the air, so strong he nearly chokes on it. The second thing is the pain in his temple, radiating outward and blossoming into a dull headache - that pain awakens him to the much less dull pain in his shoulders, and the sharp, shooting feeling down his arms is what really wakes him up. 

It takes him a minute to gather his bearings - they’re on the ocean, he gathers, so on a ship, and though moving his head makes the general pain spike, he turns just enough to realize his hands are tied behind his back, anchoring him to a wooden pole. At least he’s sitting. The uneven sway of the ship makes his headache turn to dizziness far too quickly for his liking. 

He sits in forced stillness for a second before he connects the dots between right now and what he remembers before black: a broken window, rapiers, a hand around his arm and something painful connecting with his head… he suppresses a groan. The _last_ thing he needs in life right now is _pirates_. Either they want leverage or ransom, and frankly, he’s not sure his father will care enough for either, and that doesn’t bode well for Roman. 

“Ah, you’re awake!”

And Roman’s thoughts are torn from his father and safety and pain in an instant, because he knows that voice anywhere. 

“You sleep way longer than I remember,” Remus sniffs, leaning his weight on the hilt of his sword, its tip digging into the worn wood of the ship’s deck. Roman just stares wide-eyed at him. Remus - it’s actually him, Roman realizes, not just a trick from his weary mind; he has Remus’ white streak in his bangs, just like their mother, and his eyebrow quirks just the same way - doesn’t seem to mind. “I didn’t hit you that hard, and you still went out cold for a few hours. Kinda rude, if you ask me.” 

“You hit me,” Roman echoes lamely - it’s all he can manage in his dumbstruck state. 

“Barely. We made a whole spectacle and you missed nearly all of it.” 

“But… you…” Roman looks around again, and catches sight of the other pirates - Remus is a pirate, he realizes with a small start - milling about on deck. They all spare glances at the two of them, but none of them keep their gaze longer than a second, as if they know to keep their distance, except for the boy leaning against a door across the deck who watches them with curious dark eyes. Roman meets his gaze, frowning, and he just waves smugly. 

“Ah, don’t trail off, Roman,” Remus interrupts his thoughts again, and it’s so odd to hear his name in that voice for the first time in three years. “It’s not becoming of an _heir_.”

That finally breaks Roman’s stupor. “The ball,” he breathes, craning his neck to try and search for the palace in the sea-misted horizon, but he can’t find it. He turns back to his brother with desperate eyes. “Remus, he’ll kill you-”

“Let him try,” Remus waves his warning away, rolling his eyes as if their father’s power is worthless. “I’ve been doing this for, what, three years now? He hasn’t even lifted a finger against me yet. He doesn’t care what I do.” 

There’s a lot to unpack there, but Roman tries to focus on one thing at a time, even as his head starts to hurt again (and he’s starkly reminded that he is, in fact, still tied to the mast). “You’ve been doing what for three years?”

“This!” Remus spreads his arms wide with a smile, gesturing enthusiastically to the ship and its crew. “Stealing things from the kingdom!”

“I’m not a thing,” Roman bristles. 

“Eh, tomato, tom-ah-to.” Remus shrugs, and though it makes Roman’s stomach turn, he knows he’s not really wrong. 

“So, what? You think they won’t come looking for me- you think they won’t come to get _you_? I’m supposed to be king, Remus. It’s not as inconsequential as stealing a tea set or jewels,” Roman presses forward. His main concern is hardly returning, but he just got Remus back - he’s not eager to lose him more permanently. “I’m not kidding, you know I’m not - he’ll kill you if he has to.”

Remus goes still, staring down at Roman with a raised eyebrow. “Roman,” he says lowly, his giddy disposition turned dull. “Look me in the eye and tell me why they’d go through any great effort to get you.”

“The people like me,” Roman answers immediately, but he realizes then that he’d never heard of any of the people _dis_ liking Remus before he disappeared. He sees the unimpressed look in Remus’ eyes and stumbles for a better reason. “And… they- well, they need an heir.” 

“And you think they can’t find another? A substitute?” 

They stare at each other, silent. Roman opens his mouth and closes it, desperate for a shred of value to cling to, something to wave in Remus’ face triumphantly, but he finds nothing. At least Remus doesn’t look happy about it. 

“Captain!” a voice calls from across the deck, tearing their gazes apart as Remus turns at the title and a door slams open. _Captain?_ “We’ve got some stowaways!”

Remus perks up, distracted and delighted at what seems to be an uncommon occurrence. “Oh?”

A boy emerges from the door - the lower deck, Roman assumes - and motions for the people behind him to follow. He has a scar across one side of his face, and Roman can’t help but feel he’s a little familiar, though he can’t recall where he’s seen him before. 

The next faces to appear, though, are far more recognizable.

“Logan!” Roman cries, a relieved smiling crossing his face at the sight of his steward, and right after him, the freckled face of his clerk, wringing his wrists. “Patton!” They meet his eyes, mirroring his relief, and Patton gives a sheepish wave; they’re both still in their uniforms. 

“They must have snuck on in the chaos last night,” the boy with the scar tells Remus, scowling when Logan rips his arms from the grip of the mate holding him in place. “They hid behind some crates.”

“Well, well, well,” Remus grins, tapping a rhythm on the deck with his sword as he takes a few slow steps toward the pair and studies them. Roman almost forgot he’s a pirate now, and the grimly delighted lilt in his voice makes Roman start considering his safety once more. “Look what the cat dragged in!” Remus stops in front of Logan, giving him a once-over; Logan doesn’t even flinch as Remus reaches out and toys with the royal insignia sewn to his uniform. “Now, what could a couple servants want with a pirate crew?”

“The prince,” Logan says flatly, and Roman is simultaneously proud of and worried about his no-nonsense nature. Remus never took well to being disregarded. (The boy with the dark eyes snickers, though, and Roman sees him watching the exchange with a small smirk.) “It’s our job to look after him.” 

Remus snickers. “How faithful.” He glances at Roman over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “These yours?”

“They’re my friends, Remus.” Patton startles at the name, looking between Remus and Roman as if to check for similarities, his eyes wide as he makes the connection. Logan just frowns. 

“Well, I guess we can make an exception to our ‘no guests allowed’ rule,” Remus sighs dramatically, giving Logan a wink and Patton a smile that shows his canines as he motions for the boy with the scar to let up. The boy doesn’t look particularly pleased, but he waves a hand; the mates standing behind the two step back, and Patton instinctively moves closer to Logan’s side. “Just for my dear brother, of course.” 

Remus makes his way back to stand in front of Roman, nose in the air as he considers the prince. “Unfortunately, we do have a difficult choice to make now.”

“…And that is?”

“Well, you see,” Remus sighs, “we can’t exactly just return to the palace now - you’re not wrong that my crew and I are probably wanted, and we no doubt will be until dearest mums and dadsy sweep this under the rug - but I do so care for your wellbeing,” he gives Roman a mockingly sweet smile, though not a malicious one, “so you have two options.

“One, we can toss you back on the palace’s doorsteps like the unwanted child you are, and you can live the rest of your miserably royal life as an heir who gets to whine about being kidnapped by a harrowing group of pirates.” Remus glances back at Logan and Patton and adds dryly, “They’d go with you, of course, so long as they can keep their mouths shut.”

Roman considers it for a second, his thoughts flashing forward to years and years of dealing with the crown, the pressure, his father. His stomach drops. “And two?” he asks, his voice suddenly thin.

Remus grins. “Two, you join us.” 

Roman sees Patton’s eyes go wide, sees Logan raise an eyebrow; he sees the boy with the scar do a double take, as if he can’t believe he just heard Remus’ offer correctly; he sees the boy with the dark eyes tilt his head, and those are the eyes Roman’s meet. They stare at each other for a second, sharp and unblinking.

“If I say two,” Roman starts slowly, looking back to Remus and ignoring the way Logan pinches the bridge of his nose, “will you untie me?”

Remus grins again, and for a split second, Roman sees something genuinely happy in it. “Of course. Wouldn’t wanna hinder one of my own, right?”

And after just a second of considering the options - there isn’t much to consider, and he realizes Remus probably knew that the minute he crashed the ball - he nods, resolute, and smiles back.

“Right.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Roman and Remus turned fifteen, their father took them onto his ship for the first time. 

It was smaller than the ships Roman saw in the harbor from his bedroom window, but it was made of the prettiest wood he’d ever laid eyes on, rich and dark and rough under his fingertips when he dragged them across the railing, and its spot in the sea put the sunset in full view as it colored the sky gold overhead; he’d never been on a boat before, despite all his tutors’ sycophantic rambling about Unindra’s illustrious naval power and marine exports. He couldn’t predict the giddy swaying of the floor beneath his feet, or the way the wind blowing in his hair felt somehow more liberating. He remembered just leaning over the side of the ship, staring into the water and grinning at the way the sun made the little waves sparkle. 

His father let him and Remus marvel at the sights for a few minutes, then called them to the hull. He told them they’d learn to sail very soon, his voice booming against the peaceful quiet of the water, and that being able to captain a ship was just as important as knowing how to govern in the palace; it’s two sides of the same coin, he said, two types of leadership with different skills required. 

Remus asked which one he liked more. 

Their father fixed a cold stare on him. “I don’t trifle with liking,” he said lowly, and though Roman straightened his back and resisted the urge to stare at the wood until he disappeared, Remus just frowned. “We do these things for the control. Being able to lead a kingdom of peasants isn’t impressive; they’re docile if you do it correctly. Powerless, really. A king,” their father nearly spat, eyeing Remus’ unimpressed expression, “must be able to control a crew as well, even on the brink of mutiny.”

“Why would they mutiny if you’re a good leader?”

Roman knew the king’s outings with them were without guards for more than basic privacy. The boat was docked behind the palace, far away from the general harbor and even further out of earshot for anyone besides the three of them; no one heard the sharp sound of contact, or the sound of Remus hitting the deck as the king shook his hand out, or the soft hiss of pain from Roman as he dug his nails into his palms so hard they nearly pierced the skin. No one was around to hear any of it; their father always made sure of that. 

“You’ll start sailing lessons tomorrow at sunrise,” the king said, addressing them both though he only turned his gaze to Roman, who nodded aptly. Out of the corner of his eyes, Roman saw Remus’ hands curl into fists against the deck. “Don’t be late.”

With that, he stepped over Remus and made his way back to the palace, his back straight and gait almost leisurely. He’d no doubt return to his chambers and take dinner in his room, and their mother would fret over his absence and scold her sons for upsetting him when he’s already stressed about whatever issue she could come up with to defend him that week. Roman had half a mind to trail after him, follow in his wake like a lost puppy; the urge lit something shameful in his chest. 

He waited instead for his father’s figure to disappear completely before kneeling down and reaching for Remus, trying not to get dirt on his knees (lest their mother have his head); Remus’ knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, and Roman went to pull him from the deck, pick him up and dust him off, but Remus swatted his hand away, hauling himself to his feet and stomping off the boat without turning back. 

And Roman just stayed there. He thought briefly of his mother, probably waiting alone at the dinner table - Remus wouldn’t be coming to dinner either now, he was sure of it - and willed himself to feel sorry for her, something to push him toward getting up and heading back to the palace to join her, but he just felt something boiling over inside him. He didn’t have anywhere to let it spill; his father would wave him aside (or worse) if he caught sight of such unsightly emotions, and his mother would shush him, and Remus... Remus had it worse, Roman knew. He couldn’t bother his brother with any more troubles than what he already dealt with. 

So he knelt on the wood, alone, staring at the sky and feeling the sway of the sea beneath him, kneeling until the sun was pulled under the horizon and dusk drowned him in a salted chill. There was nowhere for the anger to spill over except there, his place on the boat right then. When he stood and started toward returning to the castle at last, he grabbed a small rock from the shore, made one thin, deliberate score in the beautiful wooden railing, and decided he hated ships. 

“And that, dear brother, is the glorious Horven!” Remus spread his arms wide, beaming at the main deck sprawled out before them at the helm. “Feel free to praise it how you see fit.” 

Roman took in the sight carefully; the rest Remus’ crew milled about, talking amongst themselves as they went through whatever routine they had, casual in a way that went so starkly against the image Roman had always had of anarchist villains, hollering for violence from their ships. (He always did think that seemed a tad dramatic.) He saw the boy with the dark eyes and the one with the scar talking in low tones on one side of the ship, and Logan and Patton doing the same across the deck, their heads close together as they spoke. Logan and Patton’s back were to the crew; every so often, Logan threw a scrutinizing glance over his shoulder, his mouth a stern line. 

“I see you’re speechless,” Remus said smugly. “Rightly so. She’s a beauty. If ships were people, I’d already have-”

“It’s great, Rem,” Roman smiled (and tried not to fill in the rest of Remus’ sentence in his mind). It was a genuine sentiment, though Roman couldn’t tell if the smile was truly from the ship’s splendor or the lingering effects of seeing his brother in person again, not only very much alive, but safe, too, and seemingly happy. It didn’t matter, he supposed; he just let himself smile and left it at that. “How’d you get a ship in the first place?”

Remus squinted at him and then nowhere in particular, his lips pushed out in a thoughtful pout. After a moment, he just scanned the deck, craning his neck like he was looking for someone in particular. “Long story,” he said absently. “Very boring story, and you know I can’t stand boring stories.”

“...I can’t imagine how coming to lead an entire pirate ship is a _boring_ story-”

“Take my word for it. Ah!” He leaned onto the helm’s railing, his smile brightening once more as he found who he was looking for. He sent Roman a quick glance and nodded for him to step up beside him. “So,” he started brightly, propping his chin in one hand, “I know it’s been a spicy minute since I’ve been at the castle, but I think I would have remembered being in such _enticing_ company, so do tell me _that_ one,” he pointed, “is a recent addition to the castle staff.” 

Roman frowned at him, following his gaze and point to fill in the blanks. He nearly gagged. 

“ _Logan_?” he said incredulously, looking between Remus and an oblivious Logan across the ship; Remus nodded for him to continue. “I- I mean, somewhat- he was the steward’s intern for a few years, you would have seen him if you ever actually went to lessons,” Remus rolled his eyes, “but he wasn’t my steward until about two years ago, so... I suppose he’s recent?” Remus raised his eyebrows, nodding without taking his eyes off Logan, and Roman almost gagged again. “Please, for the love of God, never use the word ‘enticing’ about him again. He’s about as enticing as an abacus.”

“Some people find math very intriguing, dear Roman,” Remus said loftily. Roman raised an eyebrow that Remus ignored in favor of staring again, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “He’s tall.”

“Oh, _lord_ , please stop forever.”

Remus just grinned, and despite the positively topic of conversation, Roman felt himself fighting a smile, because it was such a _normal_ thing for them to squabble about; he remembered a similar exchange when they were twelve or thirteen, when Remus dragged him to the top of the Grand Hall’s stairs to point out the visiting ambassadors and their assistants, only cackling when Roman wrinkled his nose at their stuffy postures and curt greetings. For a moment, Roman felt as if they were back at the top of the staircase, poking each other in the sides, smothering their laughter before someone heard and made them get back to lessons. When he thought about it, though, he found he much preferred the present. 

“I missed you,” he blurted. 

Remus’ smile didn’t falter, but it might have been because his attention was still focused on sizing Logan up from across the deck; he spared Roman a quick glance and said, absently, “Hm?”

“I missed you,” Roman repeated, turning his attention to the deck again, too, because it was suddenly a weighted statement, one he felt almost ashamed for feeling so deeply. As if missing his brother was something to be ashamed of. He wondered, for just a second, which royal lesson had instilled that in him. “I know the circumstances of this whole reunion are a bit... unconventional, but I’m glad to see you, Remus. I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Remus stared at him, eyebrows raised. They were both silent for a moment; Roman felt, for a split second, that he had messed up somehow, brought up sentiments not requited or ready to be accepted, and his heart sank as quickly as it had soared. 

But then Remus grinned again. “Good to know you’re still a sap.”

Before Roman could even frown in response, Remus yanked him into a hug, and tears sprung to his eyes almost instantly because it had been much, much longer than three years since Remus had hugged him. He returned the embrace, holding on as tight as he could, remembering how many times he’d wished he could go back and redo the last moments he had with his brother before he disappeared and deciding now was the redo. Now was the time he’d wished he had for three years, and he wouldn’t take a second of it for granted. 

“Alright, off before the crew sees me being sentimental and I have to stab someone to get their respect back.” Remus pulled away from him, but he kept his hands on Roman’s shoulders for a moment, lingering just enough to say, beneath the rush: _I missed you, too_. 

Roman fought a smile and jokingly swatted his hands away. “Are you sure ‘respect’ is the right word for what they have for you now?” 

“Of course,” Remus scoffed, waving away the idle crewmate at the wheel to take his place steering. He sent Roman a lofty look over his shoulder. “I’m very well-respected. I'll have you thrown overboard for suggesting otherwise.” 

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, _Captain_.” 

Remus grinned again, wide and utterly familiar, and finally, Roman let himself smile back. 

The sun was high in the sky above their heads, bright and brilliant and deliciously golden; as Remus turned his attention to steering, Roman went to the railing around the helm, peering into the water below and following the sunlight’s reflection on the waves, watching the little sparkles dance across the water. He’d hated ships since he was fifteen, dreaded sailing lessons and despised journeys to kingdoms across the sea, but standing here, now, he only felt himself smiling. Oddly enough, he felt at home. 

He hated ships, he decided, but the Horven was a welcome exception.


	3. Chapter 3

A full day later - a day mostly filled with Roman explaining to Remus, in excruciating detail, the happenings of the kingdom since his disappearance, and Remus cursing their father out whenever Roman stopped for a breath - they started to come up onto an island. 

If Remus noticed Roman’s interest piquing as the shadow of the land mass became less of a shadow and more of a discernible city, its coastline decked out with wooden ports and stone houses lining the hillsides, he didn’t say anything, but regardless, Roman’s interest was piqued. As they sailed closer - close enough that Roman realized they were actually _stopping_ there - he watched the little portside town come into view with a frown. 

It was cute, granted, and the bright green flag flying high on the pier denoted it nothing more than a trading pub, but a city meant crowds, which meant _people_. And lots of them. 

“Do you think it’s safe to stop somewhere so soon?” he said to Remus, tearing his furrowed gaze from the town to eye his brother. 

Remus barely spared him a glance. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Why? Remus, I’ve already been kidnapped once in the last day and a half.” Being kidnapped by his brother’s band of pirates was harrowing in itself; he didn’t particularly want to chance the hospitality of strangers. “I’d rather it not happen again.” 

“What? Oh, you-” Remus paused a moment, blinking, and then guffawed - genuinely squawked, loud enough to draw the attention of Patton and Logan across the deck - and smacked the ship’s wheel like Roman’s told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “You don’t need to worry about getting snatched by a handsy merchant,” he wheezed, despite Roman’s frown, “because _you_ are not getting off this ship.”

Roman’s frown shifted to a pout, as if he hadn’t just been suggesting the same thing. “What? Why not?” 

“Because you’re dressed like you’re about to behead someone, dipshit. Old Lady Matilda could tell you’re a prince from the harbor, and she lost her eyes in a tussle with a dolphin twelve years ago.” 

“...A dolphin?”

“Vicious creatures,” Remus said sagely. “But no, believe me, you and your gilded epaulettes are staying right here until we get back.”

“But I-” Roman glanced at the little town again, his shoulders falling. As the ship drew nearer, he could just spot the merchants’ booths lining the inclined streets, bursting with brightly colored cloths and crates overflowed with goods. People in swishing skirts and brilliant hats dotted the space between it all; he could see a good few of them stopping to dance and laugh with whatever music was being played in the far off square. He was wary, yes… “But it’s so _quaint_.”

“It’s subpar and its economy is ten years from ruin. You aren’t missing much.”

Remus’ voice took on that bored, flat tone Roman knew all too well from their childhood. It was the same voice he’d used when Roman asked one too many times to tell him a story when he was busy, or pestered him about lessons, or insisted on staying in bed when Remus wanted to sneak into the gardens or kitchen late at night. It was a voice that meant “this is a non-negotiable situation, deal with it.” So just like he had when they were children, Roman just crossed his arms across his chest and sulked. 

Remus glanced at him after a few moments of silence; Roman turned away, facing the sea with a dramatic sigh that he knew would make Remus roll his eyes. A second later, Remus gave a sigh of his own.

“We’re just stopping here to get some clothes for you and your little friends,” he huffed, “and after we do that, you can get off and go be moony-eyed at the next town.”

There was another beat of silence - a pause to let the compromise settle in - and when Roman finally looked back over his shoulder at his brother, his smile was just the same as it was when they were younger: the victorious grin of an appeased little brother (even if ‘little’ was only defined by a few minutes). “Promise?” he asked with an all-too-pious tilt of his head. 

“Promise. Though I can’t promise you won’t have to swim to the harbor yourself.”

Roman’s smile didn’t fall, even when Remus sent him a glare and shoved him, just to add some finality to the threat. (He had missed this, though he wasn’t sure he could admit aloud. Remus had a way of making the worst situations seem comical - it was nice, even on the open, unfamiliar sea, to have him back.)

The Horven at last approached the docks of the town, gliding easily into an open spot between a few cargo ships. Roman caught sight of a couple merchants eyeing Remus and his crew, but when the boy with dark eyes looked over the side at them, they all looked away and returned dutifully to straightening their wares. 

“Alright, palatial piddlers,” Remus called, descending to the main deck with his hands on his hips. Logan and Patton shared a glance with each other - they knew each other well enough, it seemed to Roman, to have full conversations with just looks like that - and stood, Logan’s expression guarded and Patton’s openly bemused as Remus made his way to them. “We’re visiting this backwashed town to get you all new clothes, so you don’t taint my crew with your insignias and privilege. As much as I so usually condone chaos - or as I call it, living a little - I must ask that we make this as quick and easy as possible for the sake of my own thin patience, and by ask, I mean I command with disobedience punishable by death.” 

Patton’s eyes widened, but Logan just sent Roman a dry glance from across the deck. Roman could only offer a shrug and apologetic smile back. _He’s always been this way, sorry about that._

“What do you say?” Remus grinned, baring his canines in a way that teetered between enthusiastic and threatening. “Your answers don’t matter, so you can just nod and smile.” 

“Wait,” Roman called as Patton and Logan gave resigned nods; Remus looked back at his brother, eyebrows raised as if he was utterly offended to be interrupted, though Roman paid that no mind. “Am I supposed to trust _you_ to pick out my new clothes?” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll get me a sack, Remus.”

Remus narrowed his eyes - Roman narrowed his right back, because they both knew it was true - and finally sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “Well, there goes your birthday surprise. Way to ruin it. Fine, whatever, if Your Highness is so eager to be fashionable instead of decked out in gifts in the name of brotherly love, Janus will pick something out for you.

“Jannie,” he called over his shoulder, and the boy with the scar - who had stuck to his corner of the deck all morning and just watched everyone else, while they seemed to avoid him out of good sense - rolled his eyes and stepped up to Remus’ side. “Get him something nice, I guess. Oh, and be a dear and escort- eh,” Remus snapped his fingers and squinted at Patton, “Freckles here around the town, too.”

“Escort? Or chaperone?” the boy - Janus - drawled, raising an unamused eyebrow. Patton, in all his confusion, drew up enough offense to frown. 

“I don’t care.” Remus waved Janus off with a half-hearted flick of his wrist, turning his sights immediately to the other half of Roman’s old life. “That one,” Remus grinned, pointing at a deadpan Logan, “is with me.” 

There was a beat of silence - a very heavy beat, laden with the anticipatory stares of the crew surrounding them and the monumental effort it took for Roman to not gag right then and there - as Remus held his gaze and smile, and though it didn’t seem he’d been given a choice, the glint in Remus’ eyes seemed as if he were waiting for Logan to refuse. If the stern set of the steward’s (ex-steward?) brow said anything, it almost seemed that he was going to.

But the beat passed without fanfare as Logan just gave another sigh, deep and resigned. He sent Roman a severe look - _you’re on thin ice for this, too_ \- and gave Patton a final reassuring pat on the shoulder before making his way to Remus’ side, or as close to his side as he seemed willing to stand, which was a good (and in Roman’s opinion, fairly reasonable) foot away. Remus bared his teeth in another bright grin that only brightened when Logan muttered something under his breath and returned to staring sternly ahead. 

“Well,” Remus said, hands on his hips once more, “that settles that.”

He turned to the rest of the crew, raising his chin as they straightened. “We’ll return shortly. If I come back to find you’ve mutinied, I’ll behead you myself and learn to juggle with your skulls-” 

“Wait.”

“ _Again_?” Remus shot a borderline-murderous glare over his shoulder. “I don’t remember you being so _badgersome_ in my everyday life, Roman.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Yes, I do. What is it now?”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” 

“Why should I care? Don’t burn down the ship or break into my cabin and we’re fine.” 

Roman just frowned again. He debated, briefly, whether or not he should pull Remus aside and berate him or try his hand one more time at begging to come with them through the city. (In truth, he wasn’t quite sure how to carry himself around the crew yet, with their roughened clothes and keen eyes and quick whispers that stopped when he looked at them. He didn’t want to be alone, pathetic as it sounded.) 

And after a moment of staring, like he could read his mind, Remus sighed. His eyes roamed the deck for a split second, until he landed on someone and waved them over impatiently, a swift flick of his wrist that brought the boy rushing forward all too eagerly. “Samuel, make sure my brother doesn’t throw himself overboard or seduce a mermaid or something.” 

Samuel nodded diligently and turned to give Roman a toothy grin. He was a cute fellow, dirty blonde curls and bright amber eyes - he reminded Roman of a golden retriever. The prince (ex-prince?) felt himself relax a little as he smiled back and offered a little wave. 

“Excellent. Now that we’ve got that sorted out, do I have your permission to leave, _your Highness_?” Remus drawled, dipping his head in a mockingly ceremonious bow. Roman’s smile fell to deadpan. 

“Have fun in the town, you prick.”

“Love you, too.” And with that, Remus turned on his heel and disembarked from the ship, leaving Roman alone with the crew. 

“Well, you two certainly seem close,” Samuel said brightly. 

“That’s a word for it.”

“Reminds me of my sister and I,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to Roman’s sarcasm - it worked in his favor, at least, as Roman raised his eyebrows and nodded for him to explain. “She’s too witty for her own good, you know, so she and I were always arguing. But siblings are siblings at the end of the day - I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” 

“I understand that.” Roman regarded him for a second, tilting his head to the side. “Where is she, if you’re here?” 

Samuel smiled again. “She’s off apprenticing a Minnesinger - she’s a brilliant harpist.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Roman smiled back, and Samuel brightened, starting a slow stroll across the deck as they spoke. “I would suggest she come play for my court, but, well… obviously I’m not there to hear her anymore.”

“She’s played for your family before! During the winter celebration a good few years back, I believe, with a troupe of young musicians from the kingdom.” He paused mid-step, and before Roman could think back to the day he meant, Samuel brightened again, spinning on his heel to face the door to the lower decks. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the ship? I can’t imagine you’ve seen much more than your own sleeping quarters yet, have you?”

“Oh,” Roman blinked. “No, I suppose I haven’t, actually. A tour sounds wonderful.” 

Samuel gave him that bright smile again and headed toward the door, talking animatedly about life on the Horven as Roman followed closely behind. Between the distant sounds of music and chatter from the town, the casual conversations between the crewmates around them, and Samuel’s narration, the ship had an air of simple comfort, pure and easy in a way Roman hadn’t felt in a long time. 

As Samuel opened the door, though, the feeling turned odd. He felt inexplicably as if he were being watched - he glanced over his shoulder and found the boy with the dark eyes staring after the pair, his careful expression pinched, just a little. Roman stared back for a moment, caught between scowling and waving. At the last second, just as Samuel started to question his pause, the boy looked away. So Roman just carried onward, the image of those dark, curious eyes stuck in his mind. 

“These are the cabins - all of us but Remus share rooms, three or four to each cabin,” Samuel cracked open a door to show Roman the cots set up against the walls, worn blankets and clothes strewn randomly across the floor around them. “I imagine you’ll get your own room, of course, being a prince and all-”

“Ex-prince,” Roman corrected idly as he craned his neck to see every detail left in the cabin, from the way one bed had boots set nicely by the cot to the shoddy sewing supplies laid out on another. Samuel wasn’t wrong - Remus had settled him into the cabin closest to the captain’s quarters, a room all to himself - but he had a feeling it was less because of his rank and more because Remus had been waiting for him to fill the room for a while now. (Roman had seen Remus’ quarters for a brief second that first night, and on his desk he’d caught a quick glimpse of the old plush octopus Remus had held dear in their childhood, and beside it, Roman’s plush horse he thought he’d simply lost years ago.)

“Right,” Samuel said, noticeably lacking his cheery tone. Roman glanced to him, but the smile was back on his face in a split second as he ushered the prince onward down the hall. “This is our sickbay,” he said easily, sweeping an arm to a small room with two cots and a locked cabinet, “where I spend a good lot of my time. I’m the ship medic, of sorts,” he preened. 

“Oh, you practice medicine?” 

“I have for a long while now.” He leaned against the doorway, staring at the cabinet with a small, halting smile. “My father got very sick a few years back, right after my sister left. The winter blight struck us all hard, you know.” 

Roman’s own smile faltered. “The blight?” 

Samuel nodded, watching him quizzically. “A few winters ago, when the harvest was ruined? Half the kingdom became sick, over a quarter passed?” Roman thought hard, reaching for any knowledge of such a plague, but nothing so drastic came to mind. Samuel stared. “Well. My father didn’t make it through, but I learned quite a bit about medicine in helping him before he died.” 

“Oh,” Roman said stupidly, as Samuel closed the door to the sickbay and continued down the hall. “I’m sorry for your loss-” 

“This is the back hold,” Samuel said easily. Roman held back a grimace - he knew how relatives could be a touchy subject, and he felt horribly awkward for facing Samuel’s story so ungracefully. Best to move on swiftly, he supposed. “This is where we carry most of our cargo - parchment, metals, anything Remus steals that’s not worthy of being paraded around his quarters.” 

Roman hardly noticed the bitter sting in the crewmate’s voice as he stepped into the hold, looking around curiously at the stacks of crates and sacks. It was darker in the room than the rest of the ship - he supposed it was on the lower end, tightly built to keep out the water he could hear lapping against the walls outside. There was the light scent of _old_ around them, old paper and old fabric and old wood. It felt the slightest bit suffocating, but perhaps that was just Roman being dramatic, as he was so prone to being. 

“No one really comes down here,” Samuel continued as Roman poked further into the room. “There’s talk around the ship that this room is cursed, or haunted, even.” 

“Really?” Roman laughed, studying a nearby crate filled with feathers. He could just hear the crewmates’ steps above them - he wondered how much sound traveled between the decks. “Just rumors, I hope.”

“Of course. You know something funny?” Samuel said cheerily, and Roman looked to him and raised his eyebrows. “We’ve met before.” 

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. During the blight.” Roman’s smile faltered again. “My father and I came to the court, and you were there with the king and queen, listening to the people’s entreaties.”

“Ah,” Roman nodded awkwardly, trying in vain again to dredge up any memory of his own. “Yes, I had to sit in on quite a few of those-”

“My father asked for bread,” Samuel continued as if Roman hadn’t spoken. He closed the door to lean against it, tilting his head at Roman, his bright smile turned to a small, contemplative frown. “Do you remember what the king said?” 

Roman stared at him. “I… can’t say I do. I had to sit in on a lot of sessions, so sometimes they blur-” 

“He told us to eat our harvest and be sick or die hungry.” Samuel’s gaze was even, almost detached, as Roman’s eyes went wide. 

“Oh. Oh, god, I’m sorry, Samuel,” he said earnestly, honestly. He didn’t doubt the story for a second - he could, in fact, perfectly envision his father saying it, and his heart sank to his stomach at the thought of a teenager watching their own father wither away because their king couldn’t be bothered to give them a loaf of bread. “The king… my father was cruel, I-” 

“I always had a small feeling you’d join Remus here, you know.” Samuel brushed off his shirt and regarded Roman once more, something sharp and sneering in his eyes, their amber color devoid of the warmth they’d been filled with just moments before. “And as soon as you arrive, even in exile, you’re on a pedestal. It must be nice to be so unaffected.”

Roman stood in the center of the hold, stunned into silence by how quickly this had all spiraled. His eyes darted to the door handle as Samuel reached down, practiced and swift, and bolted the door. 

“Samuel,” he said carefully, but the crewmate just raised his chin. 

“I don’t plan to make it off this ship,” he said blankly. “Lord knows your brother will pitch a fit when he finds you. I’ve been ready to go for years, and admittedly, getting skewered by his sword or tossed into the ocean doesn’t sound _favorable_ , but taking even one of you down with me will be well worth it.” 

Roman heard another set of steps on the deck above them, and he wondered again, with a shoot of panic, if they would hear him should he call out. Samuel’s words rang clear in his head as his heart sank all over again, as he realized how planned this tour must have been - _No one really comes down here_. Remus, Logan, Patton, all far from the ship, the rest of the crew unfamiliar to him… he was alone against a boy with a vendetta and nothing to lose. 

And it didn’t seem like he would make it out alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of implications of child abuse, please use discretion in reading if that triggers you!

Roman was so caught up in the thoughts rushing through his head - how long ago did Remus and the others leave? Would they be back soon enough? Would anyone hear him if he called out now? Was he going to die here right after getting his brother back? - that he barely registered the first blow. That is, until he realized he was on the floor. 

His head spun as he stared at the wooden planks, hands braced against the ground as he tried to gather his senses as quickly as possible. A drop of red fell to the wood before his eyes - he brought a hand to his nose and blinked at the stain on his fingertips when he pulled them away. There was something uncomfortably familiar about the situation. His mind felt frenzied, like his thoughts themselves were panicking, even as he felt himself just staring, just blinking. 

Another blow, a kick to his stomach that rocked him enough to refocus his thoughts on the situation at hand, on the pain that exploded in his midsection. It wasn’t like he’d never been hit before - sparring with Remus when they were younger got out of hand a lot, and after Remus disappeared and their father lost that precious outlet for his frustrations, there were all the times Roman fumbled an announcement or forgot a report or talked a too much or too little at dinners and meetings and parties - but this pain scared him, because he wasn’t  _ there  _ anymore, he’d left the castle behind, and yet here he was, cowering on a floor yet again. 

Was there a sword down here? His brain was foggy- had he seen one in the crates? 

Another kick, this time to his chest, and instinctively he covered his head. His mind was a mess of fragmented thoughts - blood on the sleeve of his uniform (he hadn’t wiped his nose, right? His dad would hate to see blood on his jacket), digging his heels into the floor and holding his door shut from the inside with all his strength, plugging his ears and listening to his own breathing to block out his dad and Remus arguing, the sinking feeling of a closed door and empty room, and he needed a sword, a sword, a sword-

Samuel kicked harder than he looked like he could, Roman thought with sudden clarity. He was a little scrawny to kick so hard. 

It didn’t have to be a sword, he told himself, just something he could get his hands on.  _ Anything  _ \- pirates stole building materials, didn’t they? To repair their ships? A plank of wood, or- or some kind of tool, that could work. If he could get up, it would work. 

He needed to get up.

Was Samuel still kicking? Was this what he’d planned all along? To kick him to death? Roman was almost affronted at how barbaric it was; kicked to death in the lower deck of a pirate ship, what would his father think? (Would he have had it differently? In a ballroom instead, or private quarters where it could all be swept under a rug, maybe. Roman felt the familiar shiver in his spine of a thought he wanted out of his head immediately.) 

He needed to  _ get up _ . 

He wanted this to stop. He didn’t like feeling helpless on the ground, bruised or bleeding or battered. He didn’t want to be thinking about his father, not here, not now, not ever again if he could help it. He didn’t like the panic of broken thoughts and shivers in his spine and he wanted this to be over. 

There was a thud somewhere - overhead, maybe, someone stepping heavier or falling, and once again, Roman wondered if they would hear him or if he was doomed to die just beneath their footsteps. 

Another thud, and then another; Samuel was saying something between them. Roman thought maybe he’d been saying something this whole time, something about the kingdom and his family, but Roman couldn’t make out the words in his weird mind-limbo. Another thud, and another, and it felt like a rhythm (...it didn’t sound like footsteps). His side hurt, like it used to after bad days. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

A final thud - a crash more than a  _ thud _ , really - synced up with a kick to his stomach, and at last he had the sense to curl in on himself, hands curled into tight fists over his head as he waited for the next blow. 

And waited. 

And waited....

And nothing came. 

After a minute - a full minute that felt like years of Roman holding his breath and trying to focus, reaching to bring his mind back to here and now - he realized there was another voice in the hold. Samuel shouted something, fiery and hoarse, his footsteps uneven, and then there was quiet. 

Roman blinked his eyes open. He saw the door to the hold swung open, the bolt halfway dislodged from the wall. A few feet away, Samuel sat slumped against a stack of crates, his eyes closed and an arm limply draped over his lap. 

And standing over him was the boy with dark eyes, holding his own shoulder as he watched Samuel shift slightly, brow knit and gaze wary like he was waiting on alert for the crewmate to get back up and fight again. In the sudden silence of the hold, all Roman could hear was the boy’s careful breathing and his own heartbeat rushing in his ears. 

The boy looked to him suddenly, his frown deepening as Roman squinted at him. (The prince’s mind was still foggy, in all fairness, and he wasn’t quite all there to process that he was still alive, let alone the fact that the pretty boy from the crow’s nest literally just saved his life.)

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” the boy said, and his voice was low and kind of gravelly, a sharp edge to Roman’s muddy thoughts. He took a hesitant step forward and kneeled down in front of Roman, those dark eyes scanning the prince’s face as he asked, quietly, “Can you hear me?” 

Roman squinted again and suppressed the urge to just close his eyes and lay back down. “Yes,” he said, the word scratching his throat. 

The boy sighed with obvious relief. “Thank God,” he muttered. “Remus would have killed us all.” He frowned at Roman again, then held out a hand, halfway between helpful and warning, when the prince started to force himself to a sitting position. “Are you good to get up?” 

“Yeah,” Roman said, even as pain shot up his side and his chest and stomach ached. He was used to this part - being sore, and shaky, and indescribably tired - but it still felt awful, just like it always had. He could tell his rib would be aching for the next week. “Is your shoulder okay?” 

The boy stopped. “What?”

“Your shoulder. You were holding it.” 

“Oh.” He frowned, shaking his head to himself as Roman took his hand and pulled himself up. “Yeah, it’s fine, but I don’t- I really don’t think my shoulder is what you should be worried about.” 

“You broke the door open,” Roman said idly, swaying a bit as he got to his feet.

The boy stared at him. “Did Sam kick your head?”

“No, just a punch to the face. Am I still bleeding?”

“...No.” 

“Oh, good. Is he alright?”

The boy looked over his shoulder at Samuel, still slumped against the crates, chewing on the inside of his cheek as the crewmate shifted again, just barely. “He’ll be fine.” He turned back to Roman, and the confusion in his expression was almost comical to the prince’s dizzy mind. “Are  _ you  _ alright?” 

“Oh, fine, fine, I’m used to this.” The boy raised his eyebrows. “From sparring. With the knights, I mean,” Roman said quickly, ignoring the way the boy just frowned again. “Thank you, by the way, for saving my life. I appreciate it, uh-” 

He trailed off, and after a minute of searching for a name that didn’t come to him, he remembered he’d only been calling him Dark-eyed Boy in his head up until that point. 

“Calling me  _ what _ ?” the boy said, his frown finally turning to something sort of like a half smile as Roman realized he’d said it out loud. (Maybe Samuel  _ had  _ kicked him in the head.) 

“Your name,” he said quickly. He took a deep breath, steadying as his senses came about him finally, thankfully, and he cleared his throat when the boy’s half smile didn’t fall. Up close, Roman could see more of those dark eyes - they were heavy lidded, and almond shaped, and framed by equally dark eyelashes, and even in the dim light of the hold, they glinted something sharp. He cleared his throat again. “I don’t know your name.”

The boy smothered his smirk at last, and Roman had to be imagining the flush on his olive skin. “Virgil.” His eyes flickered over Roman again, lingering on the hand he had pressed to his left side. “And  _ you _ look like you’re about to pass out- are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I broke a rib a few years back,” he explained when Virgil - Virgil! He had a name! - kept frowning at his side. “It just aches sometimes.”

“Right.” Roman didn’t have time to even consider taking offense to his disbelieving tone - it was flagrantly disrespectful, even if Roman wasn’t technically a prince anymore - because Virgil glanced behind to the door and said, “We should get back to the upper decks before Sam wakes up.” He looked to Roman uncertainly. “Do you… need help?”

Roman blinked at him. “With what?”

“Getting up the steps.” Virgil’s gaze flicked over him again, and he raised an eyebrow. “Or standing upright.”

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re shaking.”

Roman looked down and found that, indeed, his wrists were shaking, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, his knees felt just a few moments from buckling. He curled his free hand into a fist to force down the tremble and looked back to Virgil with as little uncertainty as he could muster. “I’m  _ fine _ .” 

Virgil just raised his eyebrows again. “Okay. Come on, then - before Sam wakes up and causes himself more trouble.” 

There was a little thrill in stepping onto the deck again. It was a rush of adrenaline, a shiver of relief as Roman inhaled the sea-salt air, free from the must of old wood and parchment; it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes he’d been in the hold, but after nearly accepting that he wouldn’t leave it alive, he was practically overwhelmed by the solace of the open air. 

“Remus should be back soon,” Virgil said, drawing him out of his little revel. “Sam really drew out his-  _ tour _ , so by now,” he muttered as he stared out at the town, his eyebrows furrowed, tapping a finger restlessly against the hilt of something hidden by his jacket, “they should be on their way back. Remus will deal with Sam.” 

There was something reluctant in his tone at that reassurance, and knowing Remus, Roman didn’t blame him. His brother had never been the shining example of empathy - and even with as much as his body ached, Roman knew Samuel deserved some empathizing. 

He shifted his hand as another wave of dull pain spread through his side. Virgil glanced at him again, and as Roman turned away, eager to shift the attention from himself for once, he caught a group of crewmates on the far edge of the deck staring at them just before they averted their eyes. He remembered, starkly and all at once, the time he’d returned to a party his mother had thrown for foreign dignitaries, a bruise on his wrist just visible under his shirt sleeve; he remembered the way his father had grabbed that wrist and dragged him to the kitchens, asking him why he wanted to embarrass the entire royal family in front of dignitaries. He had the sudden urge to wipe the blood from his face now, straighten his jacket and spine, to act like he was fine, because the thought of these strangers seeing him bruised and shaky made him want to pull himself into a corner and curl into himself until he disappeared- 

“Can you climb?” 

He blinked at Virgil and forced down the racing in his chest. “What?” 

“Climb. Like, a ladder.” He just blinked back at Roman as the prince stared at him, brow furrowed, until finally, he nodded to the crow’s nest. “I know they’re looking over here, and I know it’s uncomfortable, so do you think you can climb up there?”

“Oh.” He stared up at the empty crow’s nest, at the ladder leading up to it; his side ached, but as he caught the eyes of yet another pair of crewmates focused on him, he found himself saying “Yes,” without a second beat of hesitation. 

The walk to the crow’s nest left him gritting his teeth, but the climb up the ladder was a labor; every rung left the soon-to-be bruises on his stomach radiating pain, and looking up made him feel as if his head was filled with cotton. He held in his winces, though, lest Virgil ask him yet again if he was okay. (He wasn’t sure how many more times he could take before he thought too hard about it and told the truth.)

After a few minutes - the ladder was taller than it seemed, and though Virgil climbed quickly, and Roman would usually be capable of the same, his body felt like he was dragging it instead of using it - they reached the crow’s nest. It was just an empty, cup-like structure, but the air up high was cooler, and the sounds of the crewmates below seemed to fade beneath the wind in Roman’s ears. He took a deep breath of the breeze and felt his shoulders loosen up at last. 

Virgil sat down against the half wall of the nest, tugging the sleeves of his jacket further down as Roman looked out over the deck. The crewmates glanced up at him after a second before looking away just as quickly; Roman took a step back from the ledge the instant they looked back up. 

Virgil was watching him with an unfazed frown when he turned around. “They’re not going to stop.” 

Roman frowned back. “I don’t get why they just keep  _ looking  _ at me. Normally, I’m not against that,” he admitted, and Virgil snorted (rude, again, though he didn’t much care at this point), “but I do not like this… this  _ gawking _ . It’s odd.” He collapsed beside Virgil, grateful to give his shaky legs a rest at last, and sighed. “Are they always like this?”

“They’re nosy,” Virgil deadpanned, an eyebrow raised. “So yes.” 

He leaned back against the wall of the crow’s nest and brushed back his coat to grab the hilt at his side, pulling out a short blade - for some reason, Roman was surprised to see a pirate with a dagger rather than a sword, but as Virgil focused on twirling it in his hand, he supposed it was just as useful so long as you knew how to use it. For a few moments, his mind was alleviated of the aches in his midsection as he watched the way the blade twisted between Virgil’s nimble fingers. 

“Despite Remus being… Remus,” Virgil continued in that low tone of his, missing Roman’s literal snap back to attention, “not a lot actually happens around here. There’s action, I mean, because Remus has no self-preservation instinct - that’s mostly on me,” he said dryly. “But not a lot that’s interesting in a mundane way, I guess. So they’re just nosy about you and Remus. It’ll die out eventually.”

“Oh,” Roman said, like the eloquent, educated ex-prince he was. “That’s good to know.” 

Virgil watched his dagger as they both fell silent. Roman faced the sky above, watching the gray clouds that had rolled in drift lazily onward, hiding the sun and bringing drifts that swept his bangs across his forehead, almost the way his mom used to when she tut-tutted about haircuts and preparations for one party or another. He wondered, idly, how she was doing now. The king had never paid her much mind (despite the adoring gazes painted between them in their wedding portraits in the Great Hall), but now, with Roman and Remus gone, Roman couldn’t help but worry that had changed for her. He pushed the thought away after another minute.

He had just started to shift again, trying to focus on anything but the slowly-dying pain in his stomach and chest, when Virgil said, suddenly, “Remus never told me he had a brother.” 

Roman stopped dead in his tracks and stared at him. “What?” 

“I’ve been part of the crew for a couple years, but he never mentioned having a brother. He didn’t talk a lot about his family at all, I guess,” he said quietly, frowning, “except…” He stared at his dagger again, before he shook his head to himself and gave a small shrug under Roman’s furrowed gaze. “He never really said outright that he’d been a prince, either, although I guess I got the hint that he was pretty important before he came here- to the Horven, I mean. But he never told me about you.” 

Roman blinked. “ _ Never _ ?” he repeated, his voice hollow. Virgil nodded haltingly. 

A different kind of ache echoed in his chest. He thought about being on a ship for three years without any family or old friends and never talking about your own  _ twin _ , never even mentioning him. He supposed, in the years before Remus disappeared, they had argued more and more, but had it been enough to make Remus want to rid his new life of his brother altogether? To  _ never  _ mention him to his crew? 

And then he thought back to the first day after Remus was gone, three years ago. 

Roman had gone through the day almost numb, a small part of him recoiling every time he went to watch Remus’ reaction to something or expected his brother’s belligerent laugh and found only a silent, empty seat. He thought about all the days, for the three years, that he had spent alone in the room they used to share when they were kids, never moving the dark green blanket on the bed opposite to his old red one, never touching the row of sea creature models on the shelf, never disturbing the portrait of them hanging on the back wall with their messy signatures in the bottom corner. There were days where he’d sneak in there before sunrise and stay until Patton came knocking on the door, begging him to come out before the king and queen found him instead. 

Not a day went by in those three years where he didn’t think of his brother, but talking about him to anyone brought forth a wave of something that welled in his chest and crawled up his throat; in a world of new people, in a new life, if Remus had felt the same something in himself... then Roman understood. 

“Sorry,” Virgil said, and when Roman focused on him again, he found those dark eyes watching him warily. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, I was just- confused, I guess. But Remus probably just assumed I knew, since almost everyone else is from Unindra and knew about you anyway-”

“You’re not from Unindra?” 

Roman hadn’t meant to interrupt, especially before explaining that it was alright and he didn’t need to apologize, but Virgil looked relieved for the topic change, sighing as he shook his head again. “No.”

It took another beat of silence and Virgil going back to twirling his dagger for Roman to realize he wasn’t going to explain where he was from. The prince cleared his throat instead, leaning back against the wooden wall. “Well, I suppose that’s better for you.” Virgil raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as Roman thought back to the memories of his father from today alone, the bitter resignation in Samuel’s eyes when he quoted the king’s death decree. “Unindra has been under unfit rule for a long while now. Better, I think, to have avoided it all together.” 

Virgil eyed him. “What about you?” 

“Hm?”

“You were under that rule too, I assume. Unless being prince made you exempt from being parented?” 

Roman stared at the clouded sky. If what Samuel said was true, the blight would have been the winter after his and Remus’ thirteenth birthday; that was the winter, if Roman remembered right (albeit reluctantly), when their father broke Remus’ wrist after a tense dinner - the same winter he punished Roman for an errant comment in an interview by locking him in his room and forgetting to let him out for days. He never questioned why the king had worsened so much in just one season, just tried to keep his head down until spring came and the mood around the palace improved again. 

“No,” he said finally. “It didn’t.”

Virgil nodded slowly, turning his gaze back to his dagger and studying the way its blade reflected the stormclouds above. “Well,” he said after a moment, and from just his tone, Roman felt as if he understood something more than had been said out loud. It was more comforting a feeling than Roman expected. “I guess-” 

“We’re baaaack!” 

Roman and Virgil both jumped at the voice from the pier - Remus always had a way of spooking people. Roman, on instinct, dropped his hand from his side at last, ignoring the way Virgil frowned at him when he held back a wince as he stood. But the pirate said nothing, just sheathed his dagger and stood up as well.

“Hello? Have you all gone brain dead in my absence?” Remus waved at the crewmates around the deck as Roman descended the ladder of the crow’s nest slowly, haltingly; it took until Roman had touched down on the deck for his brother to notice him, and when he did, he brightened in a way that gave Roman the inexplicable urge to hug him. The memories of the three years without him getting to his head again, he supposed. After the last hour, though, the relief of seeing Remus (with Patton and Logan in tow) was like a spring uncoiling in his chest. 

“There you are,” Remus grinned. His eyes landed on Virgil as he jumped from the last couple rungs of the ladder, and tilted his head. “Sam was that boring, huh?” 

If he noticed the look Virgil and Roman shared, he didn’t say anything; he was already jumping to the next thought before either of them could explain. “Nevermind, that doesn’t matter. Janus- Jannie,” he motioned for Janus to come quicker up to the deck from the pier, waving impatiently faster as the first mate just raised an eyebrow and walked the same pace, “show him what you got. Give him the clothes. Go.” 

Janus smacked Remus’ hand away when the captain tried to push him onward and handed the pile of clothes instead to Patton, who grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him over to the base of the crow’s nest. 

“The town was  _ so cute _ ,” Patton whispered excitedly, “you would’ve loved it, Ro, and I helped pick out your outfit so if you don’t like it, tell me, but don’t be mean, because I spent a while picking it out because I couldn’t decide on the pants, but I think these ones’ll really suit you. You just need to hear about all the booths, they were  _ everywhere  _ in the streets-” 

“Roman?” Logan’s eyes flicked over him, the way his hand had returned to his side, the way his breathing was slightly labored; Patton’s enthusiasm waned as he got a closer look at Roman’s all-too-familiar stature. “Are you alright?” 

Roman glanced at the door to the lower decks, taking the clothes from Patton’s hands. “It’s… a bit of a story-”

“Go get changed, you cretin,” Remus called out to him. “If I have to see that tacky uniform for another second, I’m gonna start dueling people to get my rage out, and you’ll be first. Go!” 

Virgil elbowed him lightly and said, under his breath so only Roman could hear, “I’ll talk to him. Just go to your cabin to change and avoid the hold; we’ll take care of Sam.”

“Tell him to be merciful,” Roman whispered back, only half joking.

“I will.” 

Logan and Patton looked between them, their frowns deepening, but Roman just gave them another small smile - small, he told himself, not frail - and nodded gratefully to Virgil, and went to get changed out of the last remnant of his life in the palace. 

There had been no commotion outside his cabin as he changed out of his uniform, yet as Roman stepped back out into the open air just minutes later, Samuel was nowhere to be seen on the ship. 

It was hard, however, to miss the storm of tension that had swept over the ship. The crew lingered on the edges of the deck (Patton and Logan included, though Roman couldn’t locate Janus and his uninterested, mismatched gaze), eyes averted from where Virgil was talking to Remus in low tones; even from across the ship, Roman could see the way his brother’s brow was furrowed, his teeth grit, his fingers tapping restlessly on the hilt of his sword at his side. Remus looked up, just for a second, and his eyes met Roman’s. The captain said something short to Virgil, who just nodded as Remus made his way across the deck. 

Roman turned to face the water, focusing on the waves and the fish he could just see below the dark surface while Remus’ footsteps echoed nearer in the silence of the ship. They came to a stop beside him; for a moment, both of them were quiet. 

“I would’ve let you come into town if I’d known you’d get yourself in trouble on the ship, too,” Remus said finally, and even though Roman could tell he was trying to joke, the stiffness in his voice hindered any humor. 

“I’m fine.” Remus didn’t respond, and Roman hated the heaviness of the silence and the way it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “If it means anything.”

Another beat of silence.

“You broke a rib,” Remus said. It was a simple statement, but Roman knew what he was actually asking. 

“A few days after you were gone.” Roman kept his eyes trained on tying his old sash around his waist - he inherited it from his grandfather, and though it had ripped sometime in the last few days, he was reluctant to get rid of it - as he felt Remus’ eyes on him. He wanted to be mad at Virgil for telling Remus that detail, but somehow he knew it wasn’t out of malicious intent, so he swallowed his pride and the slight panic rising in his throat. “In a meeting. Mom was away with her court-” 

“Of course she was.” 

Roman raised his eyebrows in agreement, and cleared his throat before he continued, haltingly, “I don’t remember what it was about - I think I corrected him about your disappearance, maybe. But after all the ambassadors and generals and, y’know- after they all left, he freaked out. Even broke one of the chairs,” he said with a humorless laugh. Remus was silent, and Roman knew he was still watching him. He cleared his throat again. “He told everyone I got into a fight with one of the ambassador’s sons.” 

“And they believed him.” 

Roman stared at the knot in his sash as another dull ache radiated from his side, as if to rub it all in. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Roman knew, without looking back, that the other crewmates were watching them, as they had been since Roman boarded the ship. He never minded being the center of attention, but now all he wanted was to disappear from their view, hide their voices from the crewmates’ ears as they spoke about home. 

“We’re leaving Samuel at the town,” Remus said suddenly. Roman finally looked at him - he was staring out at the water, his face carefully blank in a way Roman knew meant he was barely holding himself together. “No killing, not even a little maiming. You should be proud of me; I’m being boring, just like you asked.”

Roman managed half a smile at that, his voice light (light, he told himself, not frail) as he said, “I think I asked you to be  _ merciful- _ ”

“Same thing.” Remus cracked a small smile of his own, but it faded as quickly as it came. “Janus gave him some funds and supplies to survive until he finds someplace to stay. He’ll be fine there. Provided for, at least.”

“He has a sister,” Roman said, for some reason. Remus glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. 

“He’s free to go find her, then.” Roman nodded - that was as much sympathy as he expected to garner from Remus. But after a moment, just when Roman was sure the topic would be swiftly left behind, his brother added quietly, “I hope he does.”

And Roman hoped so, too. 

By the time they had set sail again, the somber mood of the ship had all but dissipated - one of the crewmates brought out their fiddle and played jaunty tunes as the others danced in pairs, their footsteps a bright rhythm on the deck as the town disappeared on the horizon behind them. Roman had situated himself with Patton and Logan on the far side of the ship while everyone else reveled, grateful to be able to finally have some time just with his friends after the stress of the last couple days. 

“There was this one booth,” Patton waved his hands around as he spoke, nearly hitting Logan, whose attention was focused on tying and untying a knot in his tie idly, “with just- just  _ mountains  _ of sweets, more than that confectioner outside the palace back home, I’m not even exaggerating, I counted eleven different kinds of chocolate just as we passed by- oh, and another booth with all these little dolls, they were so cute!”

Roman shared an amused look with Logan beside him. “Well, I wish I could’ve seen them myself.”

“They had one in a prince uniform that reminded me of you, Ro, with the little sash and everything! I should have asked Janus if we could get it-”

“Certainly sounds like you two got along well,” Logan commented dryly. 

“Ohhh, someone sounds a little bitter. Can’t say the same for your little date, Lo?” Roman grinned, biting back a laugh as Logan scowled at him. 

“I’m happy for your family reunion, Roman,” he said, completely deadpan, “but be aware that the chance of me pushing your brother overboard if he calls me  _ love  _ one more time is more than likely.”

Roman actually did laugh at that, and Patton, too - Logan didn’t seem amused. “If it’s any consolation,” the prince managed between wheezes, “that’s much sweeter than what I expected from Remus. He doesn’t know when to stop, though, I’ll give you that.” 

“He’s going to have to stop when he’s in the ocean,” Logan muttered, eyebrows raised, and Patton burst into laughter all over again. 

“Are we talking about throwing Remus overboard?” a voice beside him said. Roman turned and delighted in finding Virgil settled beside him on their makeshift bench, his black coat discarded and dark hair set aglow by the sunset, and good  _ Lord _ , he really was pretty in a way that made Roman’s ardent heart rush. It rushed faster when Virgil waited until Logan and Patton glanced at each other before he made a face at Roman, a small frown, as if to ask  _ You doing okay?  _

“We are,” Roman said brightly, and that seemed enough of an answer for Virgil’s frown to smooth into a small smirk. “That’s a regular occurrence here, I take it?”

Virgil leaned back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest as he spared a quick glance to where Remus was enthusiastically supervising the dancers across the deck. He leaned in conspiratorially - Roman ignored the heat on his face and leaned in, too, as Virgil stage-whispered, “Janus and I threaten it when he acts like he’s not listening-”

“Not that it deters him,” Janus huffed as he came to the other side of the bench, where he leaned his hip against the railing beside Patton. “He might be into it, actually. We’re testing the waters.” 

Patton grinned at the pun (and Roman didn’t miss the way Janus looked proud of himself - he couldn’t help but wonder what had spurred such a quick switch from the borderline-menacing disposition he’d had just that morning, though Roman had a feeling he could name one freckle-faced cause). 

“Oh, Jan, what do you think of the outfits?” Patton gestured excitedly to his striped tunic and the white scarf tied loosely around his waist as Roman mouthed  _ Jan?  _ to an equally incredulous Logan. “I think we look like real pirates, right?” 

“You technically  _ are  _ real pirates, but,” Janus said, raising an eyebrow at all three of them, “now that you all don’t look like you about to throw a ball or wage war on a small country, it’s much easier to believe.” 

And though Roman took a little offense to the war part (Unindra hadn’t waged war in centuries), he had to admit, Janus had a point. Logan and Patton’s uniforms, plain as they had been, were obvious relics from the kingdom, with their pristine fabric and sewn insignias and careful piping, and Roman’s ceremony outfit simply couldn’t be mistaken for anything but royal (if all the gilded accents and satin sash didn’t raise any alarms, the gold epaulettes were certainly a tip off). 

Now, though, despite the fact that most of the crewmates were noticeably more roughed-up than them, they managed to blend in: Patton’s tunic and the plain shirt underneath were threadbare, and he’d acquired a pair of weathered boots; Logan had kept his tie (Roman hadn’t expected him to part with the token), but he just held onto it instead of wearing it, as the rest of his uniform had been replaced with a faded shirt and double-breasted waistcoat, and his dark curls were windswept from a couple days in the ocean air; and ironically enough, Roman’s outfit was now the most plain of the three, just a loose off-white shirt and dark pants, his sash tied around his waist where he’d tucked the shirt in. The crew was a motley of different styles and garments, and the trio’s hodgepodge outfits fit right in. 

“What do you think?” Roman turned back to Virgil, gesturing to his new attire, though it seemed he’d already been looking. “Yay, nay?” 

Virgil’s eyes flicked over the outfit again, catching for a split second on the v-cut of the shirt’s collar, before he cleared his throat and said, “Uh, yay. It’s great- it’s good, I mean, you guys look good.”

Before Roman could respond - probably a good thing, since he likely would have made some stupid comment about the way Virgil had rolled his sleeves to his elbows, because he was having difficulty looking away from that - a voice rang out behind them, strident as always, “Are you all planning a mutiny over there?” 

Remus pushed his way through the small crowd of crewmates still dancing (though the energy seemed to be slowing down, since most of them had sat down around the deck), striding toward their little group; Roman just heard Logan mutter “ _ Oh, Jesus, _ ” under his breath. 

“If you  _ are  _ planning a mutiny,” Remus said, hands on his hips as he reached them, “I want to be beheaded, and you have to stick my head right on the mast for every passing ship to see. That’s the only way I’ll be happy in death, otherwise I’ll haunt you fools to your dying days.” 

“I don’t think mutinying crewmates follow the demands of the captain they’re rebelling against,” Janus remarked. 

“Well, if you’re betraying me, I think you owe me that honor. Unrelated to beheading, for now,” Remus took a step back, scrutinizing them with narrowed eyes, “let me see this new garb. If you chose poorly, I  _ will  _ be sacrificing you to the Kraken.” Virgil snickered, but just shook his head when Roman sent him a questioning look. 

Remus was bestowing his prized opinion upon him before he could ask. “Jannie didn’t do half bad - you look like a rejected and vaguely homoerotic musketeer, granted, but that’s certainly your style.”

“...Thank you?”

“And  _ you _ ,” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, scrutiny turning to smarm as soon as he shifted his attention to Logan, who focused once more intently on knotting and unknotting his tie. (Patton looked simultaneously disappointed and relieved to have not had his outfit reviewed.) “You look simply  _ dashing _ , my love.” 

“Logan,” he corrected immediately. 

Remus’ smile didn’t falter, even as Roman gave him a  _ you might not want to do that  _ look, which he didn’t acknowledge. “You know,” he said, “I’m beginning to think ‘my love’ isn’t your fancy.” The captain tilted his head and studied Logan’s uninterested stature, the way he tugged at the knot in his tie without sparing a glance to Remus. Roman saw Patton and Janus share a look; Janus just shook his head wearily. “You prefer something more classic, darling?”

“Remus,” Virgil warned. 

“Or perhaps something exotic -  _ mon trésor _ ,” another once over, far slower, and Roman saw Logan tug harder at the knot, “or  _ mon râleur _ ? Or maybe-” 

“Frankly,” Logan huffed, still without looking up from his tie, “I’d rather be skewered in a sword fight than have you refer to me as anything more or less than my actual  _ name _ .” 

Remus went quiet. For a split second, Roman thought maybe some clouds had parted, that Remus had finally got the hint and would at last decide to hold back; but as Roman looked up to snicker at him, he saw the all-too-familiar glint of a horrible idea in his brother’s eyes. 

Before Roman could issue a warning, Remus had drawn his sword - straight to Logan’s throat it went, and Remus lifted the blade and forced the ex-steward’s chin up, a smirk on his lips as Logan blinked at him. “Care to prove that?” 

Patton and Roman both took in a sharp breath; Roman heard Virgil let out a low whistle beside him. 

Roman’s mom, on her good days - the days when she let Remus and Roman sit by her feet on the throne, when she weaved stories of the countryside and simple life and a freedom outside the castle, when she indulged the tenderness so often hidden from their view - used to tell him that he was  _ fiery _ . He was passionate, she said, and impetuous, and bright, and she could just see that flame in his eyes when the moment was hot. 

Well, if Roman had fire in his eyes, Logan had a supernova, and it was about to explode. 

Logan leaned back, away from the blade under his chin, and stood swiftly, letting his tie drop to the open seat between Patton and Roman. Patton opened his mouth to say something - probably  _ wait  _ or  _ stop  _ \- but Logan just grabbed Remus’ sword from the captain’s hand and walked to the middle of the ship, leveling his gaze at Remus in silent, unfazed challenge. The other crewmates lingering around the deck went dead silent as Remus started to smile. 

“Well,” he said, eyes sparkling, “someone’s more fun than I thought.” 

He waved a hand to the side without taking his eyes off Logan - a random crewmate rushed to him and offered his sword, taking a wide step back when Remus looked down and took a moment to examine the blade. Logan’s stare didn’t waver when Remus made his way to stand opposite to him. 

Janus clicked his tongue. “Bit impulsive, isn’t he.”

“No,” Patton said, brow knit as Logan gripped the cutlass carefully, deliberately, and raised his chin. “He really isn’t.” 

“Trained in swordfighting, are we now?” Remus grinned, tossing the sword’s hilt betweens his hands for a moment, getting used to the different grip. A few crewmates near the edge of the ship gave strained laughs that seemed to spur Remus on as he winked. “Or just fired up?” 

“Are we fighting,” Logan shot back without hesitation, “or are you willing to get impaled while you run your mouth?”

Remus just brightened, raising his eyebrows. “ _ Alright _ , alright, we can start.” He settled into a starting position, knees slightly bent and the ends of his coat brushed behind him as he smirked. “Now, I won’t go easy, but rest assured, I’ll try not to scratch that pretty face of y-”

Roman nearly jumped at the first clash of blades - Logan moved much quicker than he remembered from their sparring sessions, and Remus barely had a second to bring his sword up to block the attack, raising his blade mid-sentence to cover his face just as Logan brought his down. The sound of metal against metal rang sharp in Roman’s ears as the captain’s face dropped, then lit up all over again, his eyes flashing. 

Remus leapt a step back, readjusting his grip. He swept his blade downward as Logan stepped forward - Remus hadn’t lied, aiming low to avoid Logan’s face, but they were simple swings to counter, and counter them Logan did with ease. He didn’t offer such a kind attack, either - his movements were direct, thrust forward with little flair or delay, and even as Remus ducked or countered or attacked, Logan pushed onward. With every move Remus made, Logan was ready with two of his own. 

Roman knew Logan wouldn’t hurt Remus, when it came down to it. He’d never had a taste for violence. Remus, though… his favor had always been for chaos, and even if this fight was petty and provocative (as were most things Remus engaged in), Roman couldn’t be sure how far he would go just to prove a point. 

Another crash of metal to metal, and Roman refocused on the scene before him - crewmates scattered from their spots as the pair dueled across the deck, nearing the mast with every step. Roman realized with a start as he watched that Logan wasn’t just quicker than he remembered, he was  _ better _ , light on his feet and smooth in his swings; he was longlegged and nimble and an extraordinarily odd sight to see across from Remus, heavy handed and bold. 

Remus swung wildly - Roman wasn’t familiar enough with a cutlass to know the fighting style, but he thought again how much Remus favored chaos, and he had the inexplicable feeling Remus used it now as his own technique, difficult to counter when one’s mind was as calculated and proper as Logan’s. Roman’s mother had called him fiery so long ago; he easily saw the same fire in Remus’ eyes as he fought in his erratic,  _ somehow  _ effective way. 

But fire, as it turned out, died remarkably quickly. 

It took one misstep - a stumble back to avoid the mast, a little scuffle of his boots - for Remus’ incendiary swings to falter, and it was not a misstep Logan overlooked. Before Roman could blink, Logan locked his sword on Remus’ and twisted in a wide circle, and Remus’ cutlass went flying from his grip. Logan barely had to kick for Remus to fall back against the deck, wide eyed and empty handed. 

The entire deck fell silent once more as they stared at the scene before them - a flushed ex-steward with his boot to their captain’s chest, and the captain, defenseless and defeated with his own stolen blade pressed to his throat. 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Virgil hissed from beside Roman. A quick glance to his left saw Patton’s petrified stare and Janus’ brilliant grin - mixed signals on whether or not Logan was about to get thrown overboard. 

Remus’ gaze flicked down to the cutlass beneath his chin, and Roman could see him swallow from across the deck. For a moment, the only sound was the captain catching his breath…

And then, slowly, he smiled. 

“ _ Well _ ,” he breathed, meeting Logan’s eyes like he was gazing at something divine. “Logan it is.” 

The entire crew let out an audible breath as Logan quirked an eyebrow and dropped the blade from Remus’ throat, stepping back to let him stand. Remus hauled himself up, still halfway staring at Logan, and brushed off his coat. Logan held out the sword in his hand - Roman had almost forgotten it was Remus’ in the first place - and the captain took it, careful to let Logan pull away before their hands met. (Roman couldn’t help but wonder if they would have gotten along back in Unindra, had Remus ever truly met Logan; maybe he would have provided a rational thought or two to Remus’ impulsive whims. They would have been an interesting duo in the halls of the palace. He supposed later was better than never.)

“Well, that was the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in weeks,” Janus drawled, still grinning from ear to ear.

“That was amazing, Lo!” Patton beamed as Logan made his way back to his spot on the bench, his head high in the air, barely holding back a victorious smile. “We’ve only been here a few days and you’ve already won your first pirate duel! You’re like a real pirate now-”

“You’re all technically  _ real  _ pirates - winning a duel just makes you a better one.” 

Janus snickered again as Remus stood before them, hands on his hips. “Saying that because you’ve won them before, Rem? Your ego need stroking?” 

“I’m giving credit where it’s due,” Remus said, feigning offense with a hand to his chest. When he looked to Logan, though, the guise dropped to something simpler, something almost… thoughtful. Roman shared a look with Patton. “Egos and stroking aside,” he said, and Roman’s surprise dropped to an eyeroll, “that was impressive. A steward, huh?”

“I needed to be a polymath of sorts,” Logan said smoothly. 

“I can tell. Next town we stop in, remind me to get you a sword,” Remus remarked, and Logan raised his eyebrows. “We could always use skills like yours in a real battle.” 

His eyes lit up a second later, something devilish in the sparkle, and he felt around the inside pockets of his coat like he was searching for a treasure, til at last he seemed to find what he was looking for and said, “I almost forgot to give you this!” 

He pulled a small leather journal from his coat, dark blue and embossed with a single constellation of the cover. Logan’s eyes went wide as Remus held it out to him. 

The steward took it gently, holding it like it was a delicate artifact, and glanced between it and the captain, eyebrows furrowed. “Is this from the booth?” Remus nodded proudly. “You didn’t have to- did you steal this?”

Remus shrugged, pride still glowing on his face. “I nabbed it in the town.” Before Logan could ask any more questions or protest, the captain said easily, placatingly, “Don’t think too hard about it, Logan - just consider it a victory gift.” 

He smiled, winked, and turned on his heel to head to the helm, leaving a confused but pleasantly surprised Logan in his wake. 

“Oh, he’s got it  _ bad _ ,” Roman snickered. 

“Well,” Janus hummed, raising an eyebrow as Logan elbowed Roman in the arm and Roman held back another laugh, “Remus is being almost sweet, so something must be wrong in the universe. Beware in the coming days, I suppose.” 

Roman grinned, and even as Virgil complained about the darker storm clouds still rolling in and Janus jinxing the ship, the way Patton broke in with bright encouragements, the way Logan held his new journal to his chest and watched the others talk with raised eyebrows and a hint of a smile, the way Janus and Virgil bantered around them as if they’d known each other for far longer than days… Roman felt something bright inside him, something that rose above the ache in his side and the fog in his mind. 

He looked to Remus at the helm, heard his belligerent laugh as a crewmate called something up to him. And he felt that part of him that had recoiled for three years start to unfurl. 


End file.
